The Living Things We Touch
by pagerunner
Summary: Sometimes, they both have problems with the matter of existence. Carlos decides this time that a little tangible comfort might prove their own reality better than anything. Carlos/Cecil, no particular spoilers, but set after episode 27.


Sometimes, they both have problems with the matter of existence.

Night Vale is the sort of place where uncertainty can creep in from dark corners, fraying the edges of reality and eroding confidence. Sometimes, even the solidity of one's own self can feel in question. Carlos gets fiercely determined at best - or angry at worst - when it happens. He'll dive into research, experiments and studies, and start shouting at the illogical results and his own inability to make sense of anything…at least until Cecil pulls him back, murmuring reassurances and reminders that _really, this will all work better next Tuesday, once the chaos storm has passed. It's not you, darling. It's not you._

Sometimes, despite the comfort, he still wonders.

But it's Cecil who worries him worst on the bad days. No one in this town is immune to its strangeness, even someone as attuned to it as Cecil is, and he's ultimately a sensitive soul, prone to musings and occasional melancholy. It can hit at odd times, and over things Carlos doesn't expect. One night it's over dinner, staring wordlessly at the plate as if he can't be sure it's there, or that _he _is, or that there's any nourishment to be found from anything. Another day, he goes out for a walk and doesn't return, and Carlos finds him later shivering near the gates of the dog park, having to be coaxed back step by step until Cecil hesitantly allows himself to be touched again, and drawn back into safer spaces.

Touch is the surest way to bring him back to himself, after all.

Sometimes, of course, logic does work first. During one of Cecil's existential moods, when he'd been wondering aloud about the reality of everything and everyone around him, Carlos dryly said, "You know, if you're saying that all of _us _are just figments of your imagination, like we don't even have lives of our own? That's _incredibly _narcissistic of you." Cecil sputtered in surprise, then sheepishly conceded the point.

It's harder for Cecil to resolve things, though, when it's himselfhe's doubting. Verbal persuasion usually doesn't break through. It leads instead to more questions, more quiet doubts. So it all requires much more tangible proof in the end - which Carlos is more than willing to provide, in one form or other.

Right now, he's at Cecil's, doing his best to get his boyfriend out of a bad spot. They've talked. They've both had drinks - or at least that was the plan. Now, he's got his arms wrapped around Cecil as they stand together at the kitchen counter. Cecil is leaning over a cup of untouched tea; one of his hands is trembling beside it. Carlos - who's just tall enough to murmur "steady…." into Cecil's ear - mostly just holds on for a while. Then, gently, he lets one of his own hands slip up a little, rucking up Cecil's shirt until his palm meets skin. Cecil makes a soft little noise.

"See?" Carlos murmurs. "I'm here. You're here. We both felt that."

"I could just be wishing for it," Cecil says, but his head tilts back, too, and he sighs when Carlos takes the opportunity to kiss his neck.

"Oh, you probably _are _wishing for it. Doesn't mean it's any less real."

"How do you know the difference?"

Carlos smiles wryly, even if his boyfriend can't see it. That's the sort of question that Carlos used to have to ask, and it was Cecil reassuring him instead. Still, he strokes one hand lightly across Cecil's stomach, taking his time in replying. He wants Cecil to _focus _first -_- _focus on the caress of his fingertips and his steady, supporting warmth.

Eventually, as Carlos had hoped, Cecil begins to answer his own question.

"Wishing is just a flash of hope," he murmurs. "A fantasy. A dream. if you can't make it real…then it all goes hollow. _You _go hollow, longing for something you can't have."

"And this?" Carlos says, nudging him gently. "Is any of _this _hollow?"

"No," Cecil breathes. "Not at all."

_Progress, _Carlos thinks, and decides he can push the matter a little more.

"If it helps…I can tell you what evidence _I'm _gathering," Carlos says, while he shifts his hips once against Cecil. He squirms and makes wonderfully wordless little noises. "You look real. You _feel _real. Solid. Warm."

On those last couple words, he lets his hand brush teasingly low. Cecil hisses in another gasp between his teeth.

"And that's not even getting into the rest of the sensory input," Carlos goes on. His hand withdraws to safer places, settling on Cecil's hip, but he's also pressing little kisses to Cecil's neck again between words. "Like smell, or taste…." His tongue slips out, tracing over the path of a vein and tasting the salt of Cecil's sweat. Both of them tremble. "I'm getting all sorts of data here."

"Data?" Cecil repeats, so hoarsely Carlos can barely hear it. "Is that what you're calling it?"

"I thought you were…what was it you said? _Very into_ science these days."

He punctuates the words with another caress, his fingers moving across a tattoo low on Cecil's torso. There's a subtle tingle there, like the lines of ink are reacting favorably to the touch. Cecil murmurs contentedly, too. "That's…good science."

Carlos grins against his shoulder. Then he goes for the zipper on his boyfriend's trousers.

There's all sorts of ways they could do this, and he's imagined so many. Bent over this counter, entangled in the bed, floating together through some sort of municipally mandated gravity failure…the list of possibilities admittedly gets long in this town. But for now, he thinks he better keep it simple. He just wants Cecil to _feel. _It's hard to deny the reality of one's own body when it…well…reacts to stimuli like this: to a warm hand in sensitive places, encouraging the evident swell.

"_Carlos," _Cecil breathes, half scandalized, half aroused. There's a laugh at the edges of it, too.

Carlos wants to hear that again. He wants to hear that forever. Still moving his hand underneath the loosened clothes, he says, "Sound's important too, Cecil. I think I need to analyze some more of that."

"You mean you want to listen to me?"

Carlos kisses Cecil again, right on the edge of his jaw. "Mmm-hmm. For the sake of…you know. Scientific inquiry."

Cecil's breathing gets faster, his hips restless. Still, there's something slightly dark again in his voice. "Am I…your experiment, then?"

Carlos feels an odd chill. His hand stills. Then he abruptly changes position and turns Cecil around. His lover's eyes are dilated and a little strange; color's blooming on his cheeks, and his lips are parted. The expression betrays an odd mix of desire and uncertainty, if not outright fear. In response, Carlos does what he can to hold Cecil steady - a challenge, when he's suddenly shaky himself - and blurts out more than he'd intended to say. Still, he means every word.

"You're not an experiment. You're the most real thing here, Cecil. You're the most important, maddening, inspiring, frightening, wonderful thing, and I want to understand you, and I want to know what to _do _for you when things get like this, because I need you with me, do you understand? I need-"

He doesn't finish the sentence. Cecil's eyes have softened, and after a low sound that warms Carlos in deep places, he leans forward. The kiss is thorough and unhesitating. Carlos returns it with open enthusiasm.

And Cecil isn't staying silent about it, either.

Between the kisses, there's urgent whispers and outright moans. The sheer _want _in them is deliciously palpable. He's also pulling Carlos along with him when he starts to walk backwards to the bedroom door. A lot of their clothing doesn't make the trip with them. Cecil's pulling off Carlos' shirt by the time they reach the threshold, and Carlos stumbles across it, laughing at himself, which only makes Cecil laugh in return. It might be the best thing he's heard all night.

At least until Cecil says this.

"I need you with me, too," he tells Carlos, his voice gone rough and rich and gorgeous. "_Especially _right now. Like this. Together."

Carlos suddenly remembers all those…possibilities…he'd pictured before. The imagery and ideas all hit him in one mad rush of desire. "God," he says, his own voice going thick. "I really hoped you were going to say something like that."

Cecil grins.

Then without another word, he tugs Carlos onto the bed.

What follows is utterly and completely worth existing for.

…

In the end, once exhaustion finally wins out and even tired laughter is dissolving into yawns, Cecil takes a few last minutes in the comfort of his rumpled bed to think things through.

He still, after all, has a lot on his mind.

It may be clear by now that Carlos truly wants this - which is at once a relief and a terrible joy - but this _thing _they've got between them is still so new and overwhelming. Besides, Cecil also has so many long-held worries about the nature of - well, everything, really. Personal questions. Several lingering doubts.

But it all might be a little simpler than he'd expected. Because no matter how unreliable reality might feel, it's in moments like these - while lying so close to another's body, and feeling him slowly settle into sleep - that the truth behind it all is easier to believe in.

And Cecil, who hadn't questioned the science of all this as much as Carlos may have thought, is taking the opportunity to catalog the tangible evidence, just in case.

The unromantic details of sex they've largely cleaned up by now. Still, he can smell himself on Carlos' skin, feel the sweat that's dried in his hair. There's an accidental thumbprint bruise on his own arm, tender and much apologized for. The mark he'd left on Carlos' neck - that was admittedly rather more on purpose. When Carlos had seen the results in the mirror, he'd blushed and laughed. _Possessive, _he'd said.

Well…maybe a little. There are worse things to want to hold on to.

Cecil's fingertips trace over it, gently now, not wanting to disturb him. Carlos looks so untroubled like this. Cecil wants to hold to that, too. "All of this," he whispers, "just to get me comfortable in my own skin again…"

Carlos' eyes flicker, but he doesn't stir. Cecil bends a little closer, but pauses, still thinking.

It's worked, for what it's worth. He feels so much more centered now, so much better anchored, and he's grateful. But there's also something more than that behind all this. What was it Carlos had said before they'd fallen into bed together? _Frightening and wonderful, maddening and inspiring…._

He's pretty sure by now that that was about more than just him.

They're both going through the same thing, really: both confronting the same questions. Ultimately, it's just about _life_ hitting them both full on. It's not only about perceiving the world as a detached observer, as reporters and scientists both have to do in their own ways… but actually living. Feeling it completely.

No wonder it's almost too much to believe. No wonder it's irresistible. His heart hurts with it, and it's beautiful.

Cecil whispers a few last things to Carlos. No matter whether or not he hears them, they have to be said. Then Cecil kisses him on the forehead before quietly lying back. He does have to get some rest, after all. He has an important broadcast tomorrow, and a lot of things worth sharing.

But for now, in the dark, he stays close, and he keeps their fingers lightly intertwined. It's a small comfort, maybe - but as important as anything could be.

He hopes they'll still be holding on when he wakes up.


End file.
